Cookie Dough 6: Almost Died Laughing
by DavidB226Morris
Summary: Now reposted in the crossover section! When an old adversary of Spike's reemerges in Gotham City at the worst possible time, it will take the combined work of all of Gotham's crimefighters to help bring her down
1. Prologue

**Cookie Dough 6: Almost Died Laughing**

**Second of the Buffy/Batman Crossovers**

**By David Morris**

Summary: It's been almost a year since vampires tried to make Gotham City their own, but thanks to the combined efforts of Faith, Batman, Spike et al, the city has survived. But the arrival of someone that Angel-Slayer thought long gone will start a whole new chain of events that could have repercussions far beyond Gotham….

Rating: Gonna go with PG-13, but it's probably going to hit R very quickly. Like _The Dark Knight, _ this is not a story for the kiddies.

Disclaimer: The characters of Faith, Andrew and Spike, along with the rest of the team at Angel-Slayer are the property of Joss Whedon and all the other brilliant writers at Mutant Enemy. The characters of Batman, Robin and all of the other residents of Gotham are the property of DC Comics and their staff. And though I have made some significant alterations in both their storylines, I continue to have neither any claim to their original form. Just a kid playing with their toys.

Spoilers: It would have helped if you'd read Cookie Dough 5 to best appreciate this story and to understand what the hell's happening. Then again, you're all smart people and you'll probably catch on quick enough. For those of you who are new, all you have to know is that Faith, Spike and Andrew are helping the champions of Gotham help fight a war against the army of the undead which still infests Batman's city to this night. Reading CD1 through 4 would be helpful but is not strictly necessary. Batman spoilers... like I said, this a whole new ball game, so I don't think I'll be referencing any specifics. Still be on the lookout for major shifts.

Here we go…

PROLOGUE

There were fourteen hospitals in Gotham City, all supposedly equal under the Mayor' budget. But, as is almost the case in major municipalities, there were major disparities between the printed page and the real world. In the case of St. Horace's, the disparity was nearly a quarter of the budget of Gotham General or any of the three hospitals subsidized by WayneTech

The reasons for this were technical and mostly irrelevant---- with one unspoken exception. On the map, St. Horace's was on less than five miles east from Crime Alley, and four miles north from the major homeless sections. Therefore, more than a third of the patients of this hospitals were either indigent or had felonies on their records Because of this fact, Horace was more popularly known as "The Chamber of Horrors", where if you weren't good enough for Gotham General or bad enough for Arkham, you ended up staying at until the police either booked you, questioned you, or told you get the hell out of town. This reputation had followed St. Horace even after Batman and his ilk had started their work, and even now it was a high-traffic point--- even if a lot of the patient traffic now had records like 'victim of gangs on PCP' or "fell on skewer.' (Everybody in Gotham City knew what these things really were, but not surprisingly, almost no insurance company was willing to cover medical care where the root cause was vampirism.)

Hospitals like this who deal with the lesser of this world's citizens, whether they be in Chicago, Boston or Gotham City are frequently, do not get the same kind of funding that the better ones do, and because they generally need more professionals or better equipment, they never have much money to make improvements. So when an opportunity to receive a rather large fund for special upkeep of a coma patient, the hospital board agreed to it with only the smallest of hesitations.

Of course, when the chief of staff learned from the trustees _who _ the patient was, he immediately tendered his resignation. So did more than a few attending physicians.. They didn't care how much extra security that was going to be coming or the improvements that were being made in order to ensure their safety. They didn't care that ten separate specialists were certain that the patient was going to spend the remainder of his life in a permanent vegetative state. They hadn't wanted to be in the same zip code as him when he was awake; to have him at their workplace---well, they needed the money but not this badly.

The trustees reaction was typical. They ordered a hospital-wide blackout and told the rest of the nurses and orderlies that the man in Room 565 was the sole survivor of a mob massacre, and the Feds needed to keep him alive before the case came to trial. Only a handful of security guards disguised as residents were allowed to see the patient. The rest of the time, his face was kept bandaged, save for the nose. There were only nine people on a hospital with a staff of five hundred who knew the truth.

The authorities and the trustees thought that this was the solution that worked best for the city. As anyone from Sunnydale could have told them (and they wouldn't have had to go far to look for one), this situation was a disaster waiting to happen. They wouldn't have cared that the finest prisons and asylums had been as easy for this man to escape when he was conscious, or that their hospital wards were utterly unsuited to handle this round the clock care that 'Patient X' needed. They would have shrugged and told them that no matter how tightly controlled they _thought _ the situation was, eventually the bill was going to come, and the repercussions would be disastrous.

The bill came due on December 1st, 2005, or what many of the crime-fighters of Gotham considered Year Zero.

The night would have been problem enough for St. Horace's from the start. Roughly an hour earlier, there had been a mass casualty reported to all of Gotham major trauma centers. Compared to some of the horrors that the city had undergone over the years--- or that matter, the horror show that had unfolded when Nicholae had made his attempt to take over Gotham's underworld--- this was relatively minor: a fire had broken out at a chemical processing plant a couple of hours ago. Because of all the major events that followed, it would be weeks before the arson investigators discovered that the fire had been set deliberately. Even then the perpetrator would never be indicted, because in comparison to the other felons, he was small fry.

For now, the damage he did was more than sufficient to cause chaos--- there would be nearly a hundred casualties, mostly with chemical burns and toxic exposure. All the St. Horace's ER cared about was the fact that they were up to asses in mass traumas. Even with their best people on staff, a dozen people died that night.

Because the ER was so crowded, no one noticed when a dark-haired woman suddenly appeared at the hospital entrance. She seemed a little disoriented, but among the men and women standing about, fuzzy from the effects of the fumes, she seemed positively normal. None of the orderlies looked at her twice. In fact, the only person who noticed anything strange was an eleven-year old who'd just had her tonsils out, and was still a little dazed from the procedure.

The woman looked dazed but determined, she would later tell the police. She had been heading right for the stairway, but stopped, looked at her room, and wandered over.

"Little lamb's been shorn," she would say. "Wouldn't even baa if mommy had a nip."

She had stood at the gap between her room and the hall for several seconds. Then she turned away.

"The stars don't have to remind Mommy that she's got lots to do today," she said as she headed towards the elevator.

No one would ask the child about what she had seen, but the girl would not soon forget the face.

It haunted her dreams for years.

*

Dennis Borland never understood why the department, after all of the red tape of and the psych evaluations, they would put him through, let him stay on the job. He knew that morale in the department was low, and that turnover rate was high and getting higher every day, but even given that, in any other city, he'd have been shitcanned the minute they figured out he was all right. (Borland had obviously never heard of the machinations the Sunnydale PD had managed through it's existence.)

Perhaps the reason they had been so lenient was because the entire setup for guarding Patient X had been based on the premise that the _prisoner_ would be the one who was going to make the escape. They secured the front door with a steel struts, they had it guarded by electronic guard that could only be opened with a four digit security code, and the entrance was guarded by three men shifts changed every eight hours. The possibility of Houdini getting out of this trap, much less a man who had been a coma for the better part of a year, were astronomical. Even so, they had not reduced surveillance one iota for that same amount of time.

Unfortunately, the board of trustees had not agreed to wall off a separate wing of the hospital--- even with the enormous amount of the money they were being thrown, they couldn't turn part of the hospital into Attica. So, while the room was secure, and the door impregnable to all but a chosen few, the security guards monitored the outside and the inside from a modified security station on the fifth floor, and normal hospital traffic proceeded throughout the floor, though the majority of the staff had been instructed to maintain a distance from the room.

Therefore, Borland was the only man standing outside Room 565 who was carrying a weapon when the strange shit started to go down.

It hadn't been obvious right away that something was wrong. When the woman made her approach of the room, she did so with no noticeable hesitation. This should have been enough to send Borland to deliver a warning to the guards at the security deck, but he had made the assumption--- correctly, not that it would count for much--- that their interior radar had started to ping when they saw this woman.

Dennis Borland, however, had thought that this radar going off was a false positive. The woman might have appeared confident, but also seemed frail, unsettled and a little spacey. She seemed about as much of a threat as one of the Olsen twins.

For that feeling alone, Borland would later ponder, he should've gotten fired.

"Excuse me," he began, "this area is off limits----"

"But my child is in there" Mixed in with an English accent was a definite sound of someone whose mental wires weren't properly crossed. Borland had wondered if this woman was one of the outpatients from the free clinic that met one floor up.

"Maybe you want the maternity ward?" he said gently.

"You don't understand. He hasn't been born yet, but he was promised to me."

Borland had not yet given the signal for the guards watching via the closed circuit camera to intercede. This woman seemed to be a fruitcake, but she still didn't seem dangerous.

"And who made this promise?"

The woman smiled fondly, and for some unexplained reason, he had felt a little safer.

"I had a child once," the woman said, in a soothing voice. "Daddy never loved him, but he and I we were together forever--- till _she _ took him from me. Have you ever lost someone?"

_A little more humoring her, and I'll call psych. _ "No, I don't have any kids. I've never been married."

"Of course not. You're a steadfast tin soldier. They always burn up before they find love.."

From this point on, things had gotten truly weird. Even he saw the security footage, Borland still had a lot of trouble believing it--- mainly because the audio didn't correspond with what he remembered. Her voice had been so relaxing, so natural.

"You're a brave little soldier man," the woman--- she was beautiful, he had to say that --- told him in a flattering tone. "A solder has to protect the people he guards."

"That's right," he had said in a detached voice.

"All the evil and screaming and snakes in the woodshed," she told him. She began to wave her finger in a pattern. "All the darkness oozing out of the night. And there you are standing alone against the cold and the dark."

By now, the woman was so close to him, she was practically breathing in his ear. (Borland never did find out that that part should have been impossible.) Yet despite this, he felt no urge to go for his weapon.

"You have to keep him safe," she whispered. "Save him from all the bad men out there."

"Yes." An outsider would have noticed by now that his voice was that of a sleepwalker.

"All the bad men out there," she murmured. "All the bad men--- like--- them."

And suddenly he turned to his immediate left. And there were Nails Gibone and Carl Novello, two of the deadliest men in the Maroni organization, both with their guns out. Problem was, Borland was pretty sure that they were supposed to be dead. But he had been in Gotham long enough to know death didn't carry the same weight that it used to.

"Stay where you are!" he shouted, pulling his weapon and pointing at the dead felons (At that moment, the fact that killing them probably wasn't a big danger never occurred to him.).

Amazingly, both of the men froze.

"Drop your weapons!" Even then, he noticed how hysterical he sounded.

These armed, _dead _ killers surrendered without hesitating. Again this didn't seem to register. All that mattered was that he follow his training and secure the prisoners. He _had _ to keep the bad men out .

"Don't do this," Novello said as he put his weapon down in front of him.

"Shut up!" Borland shouted, not noticing how nervous these hardened killers sounded. He took out his handcuffs and cuffed Novello's hands behind his back Unfortunately, he didn't have a second set.

"For God sakes, Borland looo----"

"Stop them," he heard the voice.

Again moving without thinking, he brought the butt of his gun down upon Gibone's head. Until he was sure he man was unconscious.

"What the fuck are you doing, you crazy----" Gibone started.

"Stay exactly where you are, and do not talk to me." He took his gun out, and pointed it at Novello's head.

Borland stood in that position for the next ten minutes. When the backup he never called for actually came, they were upset, but not for the reasons Borland had been. In the space of that time, the door had been breached, Prisoner X was freed, and both he and his accomplice had escaped. Which was bad enough, but according to the security camera, while this was happening, he had somehow knocked out and secured the two men who had been his backup, who had run in the second they though there was a threat, and who had basically been helpless to watch as the prisoner escaped.

As it turned out, there were extreme circumstances, and what he had done was actually understandable under them. But even when Borland was officially cleared for duty, he immediately applied for a desk job in a different part of the city, and never went on the active roster again. And given the events that immediately followed this, no one was that surprised when, nearly two years after the actual breakout, Borland ate his gun.

The note he left had five words

_I keep hearing her voice._

_*_

The people in charge never did find out just how the woman managed to break the code, and essentially that was closing the barn door after the horse had run out of the stable. The woman managed to open the door, get past the traps, and looked at the man she'd come to get.

"Mommy's come to take you home," Drusilla said.

There was a briefest of flicker on the monitor of the Joker. Unfortunately, that was more than enough.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

One of the things that Faith had originally liked about being the Slayer was that, for all intents and purposes, she was her own boss. Of course, with the benefit of hindsight, she could tell that just that attitude was probably one of the things that led most of her fellow Slayers to death, and had put her on the path to a seven month coma and a stint in Folsom. Still, being part of team had never been something she much cared for, and the idea of answering to somebody was not that encouraging

Then she had come to Gotham, and she had seen how that kind of thing played out on much grander scale. She'd been in the city for over a year, and she still wasn't sure where the buck stopped. The Bat _said _that he answered to the people of Gotham, but she could spot a vigilante act from a mile off, and now, even though he was clearly in a battle that was over his head, Batman was still only revealing it to certain crime-fighters. This meant that she had to handle the mercurial relationships between the masked men. Dick was willing to talk to Bruce only sporadically, Tim would answer to Bruce but occasionally go off on his own, Barbara had to serve as a go-between usually speaking through Andrew, and Spike--- well, even a year later, she didn't think anybody in Gotham completely trusted her main partner in slaying.

And that was just the unofficial side. Officially, Gotham had been in a mess politically ever since Gordon had gone on an official leave of absence since the beginning of Year Zero. That, at least, was how Bruce and Barbara were referring to it. Faith was pretty sure that Gordon wasn't going to come back--- just looking into the mouth of hell had destroyed far stronger men than him, and his look had for far longer than most. However, that was what the Mayor's office was saying, that was what the Governor was saying and you didn't argue with the suits. They said that the city wouldn't survive if they knew the Commissioner was gone.

Faith, who hadn't cared much for Gordon the few times they had crossed paths, was less attached to the idea of Gotham losing its top cop. But then again, she hadn't cared much for police in any of her incarnations, and besides it wouldn't make getting along with Barbara any easier. She was already concerned because another election cycle was about to begin, and the Mayor was facing heavy challenges both within his own party and from the opposition about the failures of the war on crime, either of which could lead to another series of shakeups that could make the already volatile Gotham City even more explosive.

In her own way, she was darkly amused about the whole situation. In her eyes, the only reason politics would have any affect on the situation in Gotham was if the winner was going to celebrate his victory by taking the form of a giant snake. Otherwise, the elected officials would do what they always did--- make a huge noise about crime, cut the budget to the police force, and leave the real work to people like her and Batman. And considering that all of there were for the safety of the people of Gotham, not the politicians, she was amazed that Batman was worrying about it at all.

Which was one of the reasons she had been so surprised an hour ago when her beeper had told her that the Gotham police wanted her at Saint Horace. First of all, the only people who knew her pager number were her fellow vampire-killers, masked or unmasked. She had never given it to Gordon, and given that her beeper was a Rosenberg designed device, there was no way that any outside agency--- even the GCPD--- could have gotten their hands on that number. She had suspected a trap, even when she got to the hospital and found that the police were crawling all over the place. However, considering that she didn't run from anything, she decided to go in, and see if she could figure out the mystery.

_Please let this just have something to do with a robbery of the blood bank_, she thought to herself, as she made her way up to the barricades. _Or that some MV was attacked by someone on PCP. Anything but what I think it is._

One of the officers noticed her, and didn't seem happy that she was here But then, very few police ever were. "Shit, who called for the black leather brigade?" he muttered audibly.

Faith had never been one to beat around the bush. "Actually, that's a very good question, Officer," she said "considering that I don't think there's a cop in the world who knows how to reach me."

"Never underestimate the brothers in blue," the officer said in the same snide tone. "We may not have fancy belts or great transportation, but we can solve a crime in ways that don't involve beating the snot out of the prisoners."

"Yeah, that's exactly the reason Gotham's as safe as it is," Faith snapped.

"Stop trying to win friends and influence people, Larson."

Faith looked to her left. _Shit_ . It was Major Harvey Bullock, a meat-and-potatoes cop who had been on the force long enough to get a pension as a detective, but had scrapped his plans to retire after Gordon's breakdown. The police had needed someone to assume the leadership role when Gordon had abdicated his responsibilities, and Bullock had received the equivalent of a battlefield promotion. This also meant he had to handle the headaches with the superpower contingent of Gotham crime-fighting brigade, which considering that he had been their loudest critics even after last winter, was just one more sign that the Powers That Be had a twisted sense of humor.

"Then I guess I should ask you, how the hell did you page me?" Faith asked.

"Just because my boss' major line of communications was that damn Batsignal doesn't mean that I don't have other methods of getting information," Bullock said in that half-sarcastic tone that Faith was pretty sure was the only one he knew. "I was a homicide cop fer ten years before I got these gold braids and a cost of living salary increase. I am plugged into this city in ways you couldn't begin to know about.."

Faith lowered her voice. "You bugged Barbara until she broke down," she whispered.

Bullock's forehead got a bit redder, but then again that might have just been from the wind chill. "We need you to come over to security," he muttered. "Get moving before it gets any colder."

Faith did not react, less because she got any kicks out of being right, but because she was now certain that she knew why she was here. She remained silent until she was inside the hospital.

"When did it happen?"

Bullock waited before speaking. "Three hours ago."

"I have access to police scanners, you know," she said in a stage whisper. "Why the fuck haven't I heard any APBs?'

"Because the Mayor is nervous. Given what happens every other time this happens, there's always the possibility of a mass panic." He paused.

"The Joker emerges from his coma like some 80's horror film franchise, and you think there _might _be a mass panic?" Faith asked sarcastically. "You're more of a politician than you realize."

"If it were up to me, I'd put it out on every teletype, internet and television within a three state area that he'd broken out," Bullock told her flatly. "However, there are a couple of other factors that make me think that this isn't the right course to take."

"Such as?"

"For starters, as far as the last bed check this evening, Joker was still doing his best impersonation of a head of lettuce," Bullock began. "We're not sure of that much, but we do know that Joker didn't leave under his own power."

This didn't sound good. "So one of his people from the outside managed to get past security," Faith asked as they walked over to the security room on the ground floor.

"Again, part of the reason I called," Bullock told her. "There were three men watching an electronically sealed room, in which a man was shackled to his bed, and they got him past all this and out of the building in less than ten minutes. Which is a good enough trick, until you get to Page Two, as they say."

"I assume you're going to show me how this jailbreak took place."

"Keep your eyes on the monitor," he told her as he pressed a button on the play.

"Man watching the door is as alert as anybody I've seen. Then _she _walks on to the scene."

As Faith watched the monitor, he saw what Bullock was talking about. There in the corner was a woman who seemed entirely costumed in black--- dress, shoes, hair. She was even having the common sense to keep her face away from the camera for the next minute. She sidled up close to him.

"When someone gets this close to the guard, security checks in as a matter of protocol," Bullock told her. "This is where things start to get weird. " He pointed as the guard inexplicably took out his gun and held it on the two other guards. "Now either this the world's quickest case of seduction, or she's doing some kind of hoodoo. Either way, we've got a problem.

Faith hardly heard the last two sentences. As the guard turned and aimed, the silhouette of the woman also changed position, and she got a good look at her for the first time. Suddenly, their problem had just multiplied tenfold, and if this was who she thought it was, there was far more to this than met the eyes.

"Your man in the tape," she found herself asking, "did he have any explanation as to why he drew on his own men?"

"Officer Borland told us that he thought two of the Maroni gang had were there with their weapons out.," Bullock said with a trace of sarcasm, "which is crap because all the members of the Maroni gang have either been sleeping with the fishes or drinking with the vampires since New Year's. Can you explain that?"

Faith considered this. "Officer Borland was he part of the detail that knew about the increase in the undead population among the mob?"

If Bullock was thrown by this, he gave no sign of it. "We'd be hard pressed to find a cop left on the beat who isn't one of the holdovers," Bullock told him. "In case you hadn't noticed, a lot of our brothers in arms have been taking off the blue as fast as they can."

"I may not be certain on the science of this, but I'm pretty sure that the mystery woman tapped into Borland subconscious, found one of his greatest terrors, and then projected it on to the bodies of the other guards," Faith told her.

"So you know who this broad is?"

"I've never seen her before," Faith told him honestly, "but if the description I've heard matches up, the woman who got the Joker out of his hospital cell is a vampire called Drusilla."

"You gotta give me more than that," Bullock replied.

"She's over a hundred and sixty years old, has psychic power that allows her to hypnotize, see the future, and apparently probe the mind of those who are weaker," Faith told her. "Furthermore, though I have no verification of this, she was staked almost five years ago."

It was a measure of how smart a cop Bullock actually was and how quickly he had adapted that he was able to take this in one swoop. "You can't even keep track of the vampires you fight?"

"Like I said, never met her," Faith told him. "Which I suppose has a certain amount of irony."

"I don't follow."

"My immediate predecessor--- before this world became chock full o' Slayers--- had her throat cut by this bitch," Faith told her.

She made a command decision that she wasn't going to tell Bullock about Drusilla's exact lineage because it wouldn't help her case. The police community of Gotham barely tolerated her; they had absolutely no use for Spike, who currently believed that several members of the department had made covert attempts to see him dusted. And since she knew she was going to need his help in order to track down his ex--- which she could already foresee would be a monster headache in itself--- it probably wouldn't put her in good graces with the interim chief.

"All right, I get that she's bloodsucking bitch with an Amazing Kreskin ability," Bullock told her. "What interest would she have in breaking the Joker out of stir, and how did she find out where he was in the first place?"

"It's not exactly an open secret that Gotham's become self-serve buffet for the undead the last year," Faith told her. "Makes it right up there with a hellmouth for vampire hangout."

"Yeah, that's the story I'm probably going to have to give back to my bosses," Bullock said. "Now quit bullshitting me and give me the real reason."

"Like I said, I---"

"You know more about her than nine out of ten other vampires," Bullock argued. "You also know that she didn't come to this hospital by pure chance, and I can tell from the fact you're not happy as a clam to face down one of someone on your own Most Wanted list. So…"

.Where to begin, and what to reveal? "First thing you have to understand," Faith began. "long ago, even before she was turned, Drusilla was insane. She was always floating on the edge of it, and the vamp who sired her, went to a great deal of trouble to make sure she had flown over the cuckoo's nest by the time he turned her."

Bullock looked at her. "And you know who did that, too," he snarled.

"It has nothing to do with---"

"Is it your Sid Vicious look-alike?"

Finally, a question that she could at least tell a half truth. "No, I can say with certainty, Spike had nothing to do with Drusilla becoming a vampire."

"Which means that you know the vamp who did." Bullock snapped. "Is it going to be another problem?

And that was another conversation she wasn't looking forward to. She could keep this internal for awhile but at some point, Angel and Buffy would find out about this, and would break land speed record to Gotham. But Bullock definitely didn't need to know this

"Drusilla's lineage isn't your problem," Faith said, even though this was probably another lie. "The fact that she is probably the most dangerous vampire currently out there is. "

"And she's the type who likes pina coladas and breaking homicidal lunatics out of hospitals?"

"Until today, I wouldn't have thought her capable of doing either," Faith admitted. "She's a monster, but she's one of those types who follow rather than lead. " She looked back at the video. "Which leads to the an obvious question."

"My men were tight. We kept this so close to the vest you could smell the Arrid Extra Dry."

Faith waved that off. "I told you Drusilla has precognitive visions. For all I know, she thinks that the stars told her that you were keeping the Joker here. No," she said looking back at the monitor, "what has me concerned is to who she's working for."

"It's bad enough we've got Morticia getting that smiling freak out of custody, now you're telling me she's not working alone?" Bullock said unbelievingly

"Like I said, I don't know Drusilla all that well, but according to my reliable sources----"

"Which are deceased---" Bullock interrupted..

Faith ignored him as the Sunnydale group would have once ignored Xander "--- she's always been more a follower than a leader. Now I'm not ruling out the fact that she decided to get creative and maybe just have some fun. It just doesn't sound like her usual MO."

"Save the cop words for someone who doesn't have your sheet," Bullock said. "How do we find Drusilla?"

"We've been at this for a year, and you still don't seem to get how this works," Faith said, rolling her eyes. "Take the description of Drusilla down, get it to all your people. Tell them to be on the lookout for this woman at all times, but if she's sighted, only approach her with sufficient numbers and superior firepower."

"What number do you have in mind?" Bullock asked mock-seriously.

"How many cops are in your average precinct?" Faith asked in a similar tone. "Or maybe you should call the National Guard. Find out how large an average detachment is."

"We can handle vampires, in case you've forgotten," Bullock countered in a serious tone..

"Yes, when dealing with just-turned, week-old, ex-con vamps, you guys do a good job three out of every five," Faith didn't modulate her voice. "This is a vampire who s managed to kill a slayer with little more than a snap of her fingers. She's the reason that you've got a slayer in your town in the first place. So when you see Drusilla, treat her like---

"She's one of the costumed freaks out of Arkham?" Bullock had gone back to his normal tone of voice.

"Major---"

"Make you a deal," Bullock said. "we'll stay out of the way on this Drusilla loon, if you'll handle another problem for us."

"And what problem…" Suddenly Faith realized something that she hadn't finished. "What's the real reason you didn't put this on the scanner yet?"

"Could we have the room?" Bullock told the other guards. Faith humored him, and waited until the room was empty save for them.

"You've been chasing the undead for what, seven years give or take?"

Now Faith knew something was awry. Almost every time since they'd met, Bullock had never missed an opportunity to rag on her about her stint in his prison. "You know how long it's been," she started slowly

"Ever get tired of it?"

She hadn't been expecting this. "I wish I didn't have to do it sometimes," Faith said, coming as close to the truth as she could.

"You know how often I wish I wasn't a cop?"

To say Bullock wasn't the bonding type would be like calling Xander mildly sarcastic. Faith figured he was going somewhere with this, so she played along. "A lot."

"If I had a nickel for every time that I wished I wasn't a cop, I'd be managing WayneTech." Bullock exhaled "And you know when I make this wish the most frequently? When Joker decides to creative and practice his 'Art'." He shook his head. "Couldn't that smiling bastard just take up stamp collecting?"

"Major..." Faith said

"We've gone through this dance so many times, I know it blindfolded. Joker kills people, numbers from the dozens and above. Bat catches Joker, we lock him up, he gets out, and another dozen people die, and every time the Bat lets him live. Fuck, the only reason I have this job is because the Commissioner couldn't take seeing this exact thing happen!"

Bullock was a big man who had a bold front, but in a moment of rare insight, Faith thought he might be on some verge of collapse. "What do you want from me? " she asked, not expecting the answer he gaves.

"The freak in the cape has some twisted idea of a code," Bullock went on. "Doesn't matter how many lives you destroy, he catches you; you live." Now he looked directly at Faith. "Last I checked, you weren't bound by the same rules."

Even though Faith had seen this coming, she still wasn't sure she believed what she had just heard. "You're asking me to do what?"

"I'm giving you a head start in finding the Joker," Bullock told her. "Say something happened to him while you were pursuing--- he changed to a vamp and you had to stake him to escape; you caught up with him and he died trying to escape. No investigation would be filed; no case would be prosecuted."

"I don't kill people," Faith started.

"Any more, Faith, you mean, any more. And you're not taking another person's life, really," Bullock sounded more detached now that the elephant was out in the open. "I've been chasing this guy for years. Trust me: _he's not human."_

"Shouldn't you be following this with: if you or any of your team are caught by the bat, the Secretary will blah blah, this message will self destruct in five seconds?"

"I can understand playing straight with most criminals," Bullock said, "but this clown freak is the exception that proves the rule. This happens, there isn't a single cop who would arrest you."

Faith's head was spinning. "We're being real about this?"

"You heard me. Either way, vampire or not, feel free to stake laughing boy when you find him." Bullock turned away. "Take off. My next call is the Bat. I'm not looking forward to that conversation either."


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Spike had never been much of a team player, no matter which side he was on. He had always felt that Angelus and Darla had only kept him for much of their grand designs, and he knew that the only reason so much of the Sunnydale people had tolerated him was because of Buffy's bizarre relationship to him (otherwise he would've been taken out even after he got his soul back... and they tried once anyway).

This pattern had followed him to Gotham. Part of was, he couldn't really stand Batman's whole upright attitude--- really, he thought the only difference between him and Angel was the cowl kept the Bat from using the same hair gel . There might be certain codes to live by when you were fighting crime, but you couldn't use them as a panacea for fighting the undead. Every other crime-fighter and cop in Gotham seemed to get this, but the Bat didn't

Oh, he might have made a big speech about it to Faith about it, and he might have been responsible for testing out new technology to make the killing of vampires more efficient, but Spike could definitely sense of half-heartedness when it came to taking on the undead. Oracle and Nightwing could defend him by saying that handling the criminal side of Gotham had gotten even harder after Nicholae's aborted coup a year ago, but Spike knew the basic problem was the same one that had been around since the had began.

Batman was not a killer. He could not handle ending another person's life, even if that person was just the shell remained after the soul departed. Every time another body turned to the dust, part of Batman shrunk away. And as Tim Drake had told Spike on one of their joint efforts destroying a nest, Batman had a lot of trouble asking for help. And as both he and Faith would admit, they were not the kind of people who others shared confidences with. Never mind that all of them knew Batman's identity and had gone to a great deal of trouble to make sure that nobody in LA knew this, Batman didn't trust easily, and, in his defense, neither of them were the kind of people that inspired trust.

For that reason, Spike had been doing the majority of his vampire killing alone. He would give Oracle weekly reports on whatever new nasties came to Gotham; he would occasionally fight alongside Nightwing or Faith handling a minor crime lords threat, but for the most part he was the Vamp who walked by himself and all places were alike to him. Faith and Andrew were more willing to meet up with the Gotham contingent of the crime-fighters.

Which is why he had been surprised when Faith had told him that they needed to have a meet-up before she passed on some vital information on to the Bat Cave.. Spike didn't know what it was--- perhaps some more of the costumed wackos from Arkham had broken out and they needed all hands on deck. Furthermore, she had agreed to meet with him at home--- one of Nicholae's former major holdings.

(Not surprisingly, the value of real estate in Gotham had gotten a lot more affordable since last Christmas. Unlike the others, Spike refused to accept Nicholae's reign of terror as the start of anything new in this city. In his mind, Gotham had been a shithole before Nicholae came and was just as shitty now; it just had a greater degree of his kind of characters in it now. )

"There's a lot of better places you could be living," Faith reminded him.

"I've never been much for the upper crust," Spike had countered, and that had been it.

Faith almost never came to his apartment, so the fact that she wanted to see it now, and at sunrise made him particularly wary. Nothing good ever started for a vampire at dawn.

"Open up," Faith said, after knocking once.

"You know I'd think that spending all this time around a billionaire would have rubbed off on you by now," Spike said, as he opened the door.

"Yeah, now which fork to use to eat salad, which is fine cause I always use my hands," she said. "Going to invite me in? Oh, that's right. It's the other way around."

Spike rolled his eyes as she went in. He'd heard this witticism before.

"That's very funny. Here's a better one. May I offer you something? Non-fat latte, Snapple, pigs blood?"

"Give it up, Spike. We have to face the fact that were just not as good at jokes as Buffy is."

"Maybe, or it could be I feeling kind of shagged out, and would prefer you get to the point." Spike had preferred bluntness in this kind of message.

Faith responded just as candidly. "What can you tell me about Drusilla?"

He knew that it wasn't possible to feel anything there, but he still felt a mild tang in that gaping chasm that had once held his heart. "Where should I start?"

"How about the last time you saw her?"

"Sunnydale, four years ago," he told her without even having to think. "She had come back to Sunnydale to try and win me back over to the side of darkness. She did some of her usual head games on me, and I managed to drain my first person since the soldier boys spayed and neutered me."

"How did she pull that off?"

"Killed the girl for me," he admitted. "No harm, no fouled up chip. Truth of the matter I wasn't thinking that clearly. Seeing your first love two years after she broke your heart will do something like that to bloke."

"But after that, you surprised Buffy, there was some kind of confrontation between the three of you, and you staked her to prove you loved Buffy."

"Well, um," Spike now did feel a little uncomfortable. "not exactly."

"That's how Buffy---"

"Buffy's memory can be faulty," Spike told her. "A few minutes later, Harmony showed up, and that bint caused so much of a distraction. Then I had a major scream fest with Buffy, and we left. By the time I came back to where I'd left Drusilla, she was gone. I haven't seen her since."

Now Faith appeared confused. "But Buffy--- you said that while the First was tormenting you, it kept taking the form of Drusilla."

"That's right."

"I thought it could only take the forms of those who died."

Spike smiled, held out his arm, wrist first. "Care to take me pulse, luv?"

Faith considered this for a minute. "Well, in that case, this will make things a little easier to understand."

Spike honestly hadn't thought of Drusilla in a couple of months, and he had ignored the pain trying to keep pace with the conversation. Unfortunately, he now knew where this was going. "Has she resurfaced?"

Faith nodded. "In the worst possible place."

"She lead another breakout at Arkham?"

"Yes to the breakout; no to the location," she paused. "The Chamber of Horrors."

Spike didn't shift into his game face, but his expression notably darkened. It was an expression that few sane people--- even crime-fighters--- would approach willingly. "I guess birds of a feather really do flock together," he told her. "Which of us gets the pleasure of saying 'I told you so' to the man in the cape?

"We're in no positions to throw stones," Faith pointed out. "We knew where Joker was for the past ten months. Either one of us could have handled the situation; we both opted not to. I had my reasons, but I'd love to hear yours."

"You know as well as I do that the Bat barely stomachs me as it is," Spike pointed out. "You also know that dog and pony show at St. Horace was for our benefit rather than for that smiling freaks protection. It was to show us that we weren't going to thwart his will. We handle the undead scum of the earth; we don't have a problem. We try to affect how he metes out justice; we are of no use to him."

"He has accepted our help---" Faith started.

"He _tolerates _our help," Spike countered. "More accurately, he tolerates _you_. Bats' would have no problem tying me to a day bed in his solarium, then locking the door and leaving as the sun came up."

This was an old disagreement, and one Faith didn't want to pursue right now. "Let's save the argument for another day," she started. "Right now our problem is Drusilla and the Joker."

"No, our problem is Dru; I imagine the Bat's already got a handle on that smiling freak," Spike spoke dismissively.

'Two things Spike. According to the hospital and the orderlies, Joker's still a turnip with no signs of regaining consciousness. Dru may have some master plan of restoring him to full health," she looked at Spike, "she knows how to do some---- but right now, he 's not going to be a factor. We find her, we find him."

Faith then deliberately hesitated.

"What's the other thing?" Spike asked

"Bullock told me had held off putting this out on the wire for one reason. So that we would know before _he _does--- and so the appropriate measures could be taken."

"He hinted that he wants us to take Joker out?" Spike asked doubtfully.

"Bullock never hints. He told me flat out that if Joker were killed, he wouldn't look that hard to find whoever did it."

A small smile crept over his face. "Always did like Harvey. Man didn't have the rose-colored glasses certain crimefighters do."

"So that's it? We take him out? Thought you had a soul?" Faith countered.

Spike scoffed. "Please, have you seen what some people do with souls?" He shrugged. "Besides, and one of the plusses of having one is that it becomes a lot easier to recognize creatures without one. The guy has a body count higher than most vampires, and you've effectively been given a Get Out of Jail free card in doing so? Why's the question even up for debate?" Spike's eyes narrowed. "Or have you hanging around with Batman's rich twin that you even have to call the question?"

So Spike was going to raise the issue after all. "Look Spike, I know you've got a problem with the way he does things--"

"I don't want to have this talk about it anymore than you do," Spike countered honestly. "Never mind that this isn't the bloody eighteenth century, and that there's no Marquis De Queensbury rules or Geneva Convention for fighting these scum, dead _or _alive. Never mind that if he has just one bad night, there's a good chance that he becomes a _real _Batman, and that should be loads of fun. He's been doing this his way, and he's not going to listen to the likes of me. But you..."

He paused deliberately.

"Don't be coy, William, tell it like it is," Faith told him

"You've been fighting along side him more and more the past few months. I'd hoped that a bit more of your sense would have rubbed off on him. Yet he has remained annoyingly unblemished." Faith didn't like the smile that was forming at the corners of Spike's mouth. "Why is that?"

"Don't go there,"' Faith said warningly.

"You once said that a good slay left you hungry and horny. Same thing happen to the good old Batsy?" When there was no reaction, he went on. "You find out what all those compartments on his little belt open up to? Whether his little car has a back seat for---"

Spike had less than a second to realize that he'd just been sucker-punched when Faith was yanking him to his feet, and throwing him face first against the wall, his arm locked behind his back, his hand resting high against his spinal column.

"Who I fuck is none of your business" Faith whispered angrily into his ear as he made out with the brickface. "I'd say the same to you, but considering that everybody you screw has a decidedly homicidal streak, it actually does matter where you stick your dick."

"I dunno, Buffy was kinky, but never—"

Faith inched his arm up in ways that the elbow joint was never meant to go.

Even though Spike knew well enough to not keep going with the Buffy line, he couldn't stop baiting the Slayer. "So you have been shacking up with the billionaire."

"Not even close," Faith snarled. "And I'd appreciate it if you'd stop thinking I don't have two IQ points to rub together. I know what this is really about."

"Well, why don't you tell me?"

"You've just learned that the woman you were with for over a hundred years, who made you what you are, is back in town, and has upgraded the homicidal lunatic level in Gotham to blood red." Faith had loosened her grip. "Now you may say that you're over her, you may say you're still carrying a torch for Buffy, but you never forget your first love, and now you're going to have a face off you'd hoped would never come. So your deflecting, and you're trying to make everybody else pissed off, so you don't have to deal with your shit. Well, tough titty, your problems are still here, and the longer you put off dealing with her, worse it'll be. For everyone."

Faith had now let go, and had left herself open for attack, but she knew by now that Spike wasn't going to retaliate.

"When did you get this wealth of insight?" Spike muttered, only half sarcastically.

"Yet another thing you can hate Angel for," she told him. "Lest you forget, he went through a situation almost exactly like this five years ago. He didn't handle it much better, according to Wes and Gunn, and he pretty much turned away everybody who offered to help. Really want to keep up that imitation?"

Because this was a pressure point with him, this finally registered. "Traveled across the sodding continent, and I still can't get away from the ponce," Spike mumbled. "Well, I'll be fucked if I starting playing his greatest hits album."

He looked at Faith. "How much bloodshed did she rain down to get Joker out of the hospital?"

"That's part two of the weird," Faith admitted. "Dru's gifts of psychic powers, how deep are they?"

"She's always had the gift of foresight," Spike began. "Whatever it was she had, it scared the piss out of her sometimes, so she always kept in vague terms."

"_She _was afraid?" Faith raised an eyebrow.

"Strict Catholic upbringing...and insane," Spike reminded her. "The day that she became a vampire was supposed to be the day she became a nun. Angelus and Darla's idea of whimsy. They knew that the religious part of her training would keep driving her insane long after she became a killer. Tell me again why so many of you goody two-shoes are attracted to him."

"The 'Angel is a bastard' line is old," Faith reminded him. "What other tricks could she manage?"

"What, brilliant foresight isn't enough for you?" Spike shrugged. "Occasionally, she could work her wiles on a weaker mind, probe their minds, take the form of their greatest needs. Even that took a major effort."

Faith frowned. "Could that include tapping into their greatest fears?"

"You're kidding? You know how dark that kind of power is?" Spike countered. "You know how old a vampire you have to be in order to know how to do that? _Darla _couldn't, and she was part of the Order of Aurelius. They majored in that kind dark stuff. You have to have been around a long time to master that skill."

Suddenly this made the situation even messier. "What if I told that Drusilla broke into the facility, talked the guard into turning the weapon on his co-workers, entered an electronically sealed room, unhooked the Joker, then got him out of the hospital--- all without anybody stopping her or with spilling a drop of blood?"

"Not a single corpse?" Now Spike was started to get concerned. "Dru loves spectacle and mayhem, breaking out someone like the Joker--- and she knew exactly who he was, don't doubt that---- she'd have made mincemeat out of the guards and a couple patients for good measure."

"Which leaves us with two possibilities, she had someone on the inside, or someone has been giving her some tips on a new power," Faith figured. "Either way, she'd not doing this alone."

"Look who got a brain," Spike said. "You really have been hanging out with Bats too long."

"Stop bringing him into this," Faith lowered her voice. "I haven't come to Batman with this because of the whole hit on the Joker. "

"Brings up a tiny problem, how much are we involving the whole caped community?" Spike reminded her. "They have a lot more invested in this than we do, and some of them would definitely have a clearer perspective on taking him out of play permanently."

"Bullock told me that he would hold off making the call to Batman as long as he could, which means that the moment he learns what happened, he's going to be on the case."

"Was I your first stop after you got this little nugget?" Spike asked. "You didn't go to Oracle or Nightwing?"

"I thought you should know that your ex was back in town," Faith told him. "You understand how she thinks better than anyone here. Maybe you can tell me what her next move will be."

"Dru doesn't have a playbook, she usually has a handler and a leash to take her for walks," Spike reminded her, "and given what her approach was to getting Clownboy out of the hospital, she's not operating to whatever behavior that even she might consider normal. What's more on her best day she was never much of a leader-- just went with the alpha vamp And considering that both of her favorites now have souls, that means she's found someone new to follow."

"Wrong word," she countered. "If she has been learning those dark arts, and they were as hard to master as you said they were, then maybe it's someone old."

"There aren't a lot of ancient vampires left," Spike reminded her. "The Scoobies managed to do a pretty good job of wiping them out.."

"They didn't all come to Sunnydale," Faith reminded him. "Wasn't what happened here a prime example of that?"

"Yeah, those old boys never did have much of a learning curve," Spike said thoughtfully. "Could be that one of Nicholae's colleagues is trying to rerun another version of last year."

"Has there been any chatter as to what might be happening?"

"They wouldn't be talking to me," Spike shot back. "By now, the only vampires in the world who don't know that I've switched sides are the ones out of circulation for thousands of year.. And even if they didn't, the rank and file in Gotham would be sure to tell that to any newcomer."

"I think you're imagining your popularity."

"Why, because this city isn't known for having dark looking forces fight for good?"

"Seriously," Faith said, "do you have any idea if there's some new evil in town?"

Spike gave this some actual consideration. "Grayson's heard that there's been some low -level noise from the one's who are picking on the homeless," he told them. "He didn't raise it with us because so far there's been no evidence that vampires are involved, but he did pass it on to Andrew."

"What kind of talk?"

"That there's been whispering from outside and inside Gotham about some kind of new wave. Not necessarily evil, just something different"

Faith shook her head. "Different is never good, especially around here."

*

The men in question were mercenaries whose sole function was to make this delivery. They knew only the vaguest of details about the man who had hired them, and even less about the woman they were supposed to meet, and the only reason they wee dealing with he latter was because they knew enough not to make enemies of the former. Therefore, neither had complained about what was in the back of the truck they were driving, or to the location that they were taking it, too.

Their instructions had been simple: take the package to that location, and wait for her arrival. They had not expected that they would have to wait nearly six hours, or that despite the fact that they were in the lowest outskirts of Gotham City, for some reason, there wasn't a soul to be found on the street.

It was not until the sun had begun to dip below the horizon that the special cell they were carrying began ringing.

"Yes?"

"Get out, and unlock the back of the vehicle." The speaker was using some kind of digital scrambler so his voice was incomprehensible. It didn't matter. They knew who they really were talking with, and followed his instructions to the letter.

Three minutes later, none of the doors or windows in the house had opened, but somehow she appeared.

"How kind of you to let him come," she said, in a detached voice. "Do you have the magic box?"

Mercer, who had been given more details about their mission than his partner, told her "Yes."

The woman sounded pleased, but Mercer had a feeling she might show the same amount of joy over slitting his throat. She walked to the back of the vehicle, and flung the doors open.

"Oh, that's ever so lovely," she told him. "This'll do my Jackie boy ever so much good. Don't you think?"

Talking to this woman was not part of their deal, but Mercer had an idea that they were already walking a tightrope with this headcase. "If you say so."

"I do say so," she answered solemnly. "If I didn't, you'd be speaking out of turn, and that's not permitted in polite company.

"Normally," she said casually, "I'd have to take a whole bunch of nice strong men---" she looked him dead in the eye, "slit your belly open, tear out your entrails, squeeze them into juice, and pour it down their throats until he was back to his self again. But this," again she indicated the box, "will make all that so much easier. Which is good. Left my juicer in South America."

In order to work for the people he worked for, Mercer had to have balls of steel. But somehow, as he listened to this woman chant, he began to feel like they were melting into quick-silver, and it took a lot of interior strength to start running. "So you need some help with the box?' he managed a level tone.

"How chivalrous of you," the woman said, "but that's all right. I can handle it myself."

It had take six strong men to load this box into the trunk, but this woman--- who couldn't weigh more than a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet --- lifted it over her head with both hands as if it were nothing more than an empty garbage can.

"Close your mouth, dearie," she said, "You're not a codfish."

With that she began to walk down the street. "Yea," she began to chant in that same uninterested voice "though I walk in the shadow of the valley of death, I shall fear evil, because it is always there, and you'd be a fool not to scamper away, because thou art not with me."

It was just above freezing outside, but Mercer was perspiring freely. He'd dealt with some bizarre characters in his time, but this little slip of a girl was making him nervous in ways Batman never had.

"We've done our job," he told his associate. "Let's get out of here."

"But we're supposed to wait and---"

"We know that he's nearby. We also know how much of a threat he was when he was in a coma," Mercer pointed out. "Really feel like sticking around for he gets born again?"

"The boss wouldn't arrange this if he didn't know what he was doing," his associate pointed out.

"I don't doubt our boss' means; I doubt hers," Mercer said flatly as eh headed back to the front. "They're both wild cards, and I don't want to be around to see them both back into playing form. Not unless I absolutely have to."


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

At first, the dream is familiar, if not comforting.

It's an image out of Rockwell painting, 'Family Leaving the Movies', father dressed in a jacket and tie, mother wearing dress with pearls, son walking between them, eyes filled with innocence.

Then two men come out of the shadows, both with pistols out, there faces still unrecognizable to him, even though he's been seeing them in his mind's eyes for decades.

The reactions of his parents are always the same, his father reaching into his pocket for his wallet, his mother preparing to give the men their purses. Their expression were fearful but still calm, and even in his dream like state, he wonders what did they do, what silent unseen signal did his parents give to make them trigger what came next.

As always the questions remain unanswered, and are ultimately irrelevant. The results are all that matter. Whatever the reason, both robbers fire. He sees the bullets emerge from the gun, and then Thomas and Martha Wayne are lying on the ground

He tries to force himself into wakefulness, part of him knowing what new horror is coming. But, just like the earlier parts of this dream had plagued him for years, he can not rouse himself.

Bruce turns to his parents--- and sees that they are not yet dead. Their breathing is shallow and their lifeblood flowing out of them at a horrifying rate, but they still live.

'There's still time."

He looks to his left. Inexplicably, the robbers are still there. One has knelt so that his face is level with the boy whose life he has just destroyed. The face is no longer menacing; now it seems almost gentle.

"Do you want them to live?"

He can not place the voice. He knows that he has heard it before, but he can not tell where. More to the point, he doesn't care. He knows that he should know better--- these people just shot his parents, for God's sakes--- but the reason of his adult mind has gone.

All that is present now is the simple yearning of a boy.

"Yes." How innocent his voice is.

Now the voice is different; it's full of authority. "Then you must choose."

"What?"

"You can only save one. There isn't time for both."

Even in the murkiness of his subconscious, Bruce somehow knows that this was a lie. But the harder, unemotional part of him that knows this doesn't function here--- perhaps there is no Batman to harness it.

It is the child's voice that answers. "I--I can't."

"You must." The voice is still gentle but now Bruce can detect a hint of menace. He tries to turn away from it, only to be staring at his parents bodies. Their breathing is fainter now--- soon the decision will be superfluous.

He agonizes over this for what seems to be an eternity. Finally, he decides. '"My d-dad."

There is no hesitation in what happens next. The other burglar, invisible until now, stands back over his father.

"Th--thank you," he says. Only then does he look back at the first robber--- and renewed horror fills his being. For his visage is now that of an undead monster.

"You did this Bruce" the monster tells him with added cruelty. "We needed your permission."

And as the other robber, now with the same ridged nose and fangs, buries his teeth into Thomas Wayne's neck, the nightmare flies apart.

Even after all the horrors he has seen, not since the earliest days of his childhood had Bruce Wayne woken up to the sound of his own screams. He hadn't done so tonight, either, but he still felt that he had been dangerously close.

As had been the case for the past three weeks his sheets were soaked through with perspiration. Only Alfred would notice the difference, and being the quintessential gentleman's gentleman he would not mention it. He knew the nightmares were not uncommon to the man who wore the mantle of Batman.

Yet not even Alfred knew the details of the nightmare that had been plaguing Bruce for the past twenty-two days. Furthermore, he knew enough psychiatry to know that what was happening to him was not normal, and shouldn't be possible.

The nightmare was progressing, and every few days, it seemed that new parts of the dream were coming. Two weeks ago, the robber had asked his first question. A week later, his dream self had been asked to make the decision about who to save. And it was only three days ago that his would be well-wisher had revealed he was a vampire.

Nor did Bruce believe that this would be the end of it. This dream--- and he knew that there was more to it than this, he just couldn't say what---- was not finished. It was still building to its climax, and what happened after that he didn't want to consider.

What he could consider was the effect the dream was having on his ability to gain any rest from the precious few hours that he devoted to sleep each day. He was already running pretty close to empty at it was. The Joker's liberation from Gotham two days ago had put him on high alert for thirty -six straight hours before he had been "ordered" home to bed. However, this latest version of the nightmare had drained what little rest he had gained, and he knew from past experience that there would be little point in trying to fall back asleep.

He couldn't help but draw the horrible parallels to what had happened before Bane had nearly destroyed him. Soon the exhaustion would overcome his resistance, and then he would be no good to anyone. The police were starting to suspect, Barbara and Tim had stopped short of asking him at least once over the past week, and---

It was then Bruce really noticed for the first time the woman who had been sharing his bed a few hours ago was no longer in it. This, more than anything else, should have screamed to him that he was in need of help. If his powers of observation had diminished to the point that he couldn't tell who'd been sleeping in his bed, then he was just a short hop away from being all but useless on either side of his work.

Shaking his head, he went to slip on a robe. He had a good idea where she was going to be.

It took a lot to surprise a Slayer, but Faith had to admit she'd been a little taken aback when Andrew had raised what should have been an elementary question little more than a year ago.

'"This is a pretty exhausting job, and I'm little more than an apprentice watcher," he had begun. "I' know I'm relatively new to all this, but I don't have the restorative powers that you do. I need some sleep."

"There's nothing new about that," Faith said with an awkward bit of compassion--- this was still a new emotion for her., "You're only human."

"So are you. So was Buffy., and in all the years I've known either of you, you've never looked tired which is odd, considering that you have jobs in the morning and do your real work all night long," Andrew told her. "When the hell do you sleep?"

"Slayers don't need much rest,": she reminded him.

"Yeah, but you're not Superman no matter how strong you are," he reminded her. "Believe me, I've done the research. The human body can only be alert for so long before it starts to collapse in on itself.. Now I know we've had long days battles against monsters, and that fight we had when Spike and Jasmine got revived was a full day thing, but those kinds of things are the rule, not the exception. So I ask again: when do you sleep?"

Perhaps the reminder, however, brief, of the battle that had ultimately taken Robin Wood's life had sobered her up, and she didn't try to joke it off. "B always told me that she grabbed her sleep between two or three and would rest til dawn," she began "Then again, she always had these wicked ideas about having to go to school or work. I always felt that these things were kind of baggage. I was a slay all night, sleep most of the morning kind of girl. Then again, doing nothing but living the life kind of helped get me into Folsom, so maybe I'm not the best example of how to balance the two."

"So have you made any changes?"

"Considering that every cop in this city still gives me the stink eye when I make my appearances in public, I think it's best if I don't make any appearances before dark," she had honestly. "Besides, it's not like I have to fake being normal here."

Andrew had let the matter drop without asking the automatic follow-up: Do you share your bed with anyone? Then again, maybe Andrew hadn't thought like this because the only people he shared his bed with were action figures. Faith had gotten to know him in the past year or so to find his innocence charming in a way.

_Careful girl,_ she thought. _Next you'll be selling Girl Scout cookies and making friendship bracelets._

Faith didn't know how exactly she'd ended up in Bruce's bed. The physical reason for her was obvious---- still sexually charged after slaying after all these years. She also understood slightly Batman's attraction to her--- according to Barbara, he had a thing for women who were morally ambiguous (Barbara was enough of a lady to not say dirty girls), and she knew that some men were drawn to women like her. Barbara also mentioned something about women like Faith and leather, but even the Slayer didn't catch that reference.

Her problem came from whose bed she woke up in. She was screwing Batman, but she woke up in Bruce's house. She knew something about having a dual identity, but she thought that Batman's problem was one either he hadn't realized, or, more likely, knew about and was doing his damnedest to ignore it. He might say that Batman was his alter ego, and Bruce Wayne was his real name, but Faith knew that it was the other way around. He might be trying to create a Gotham that didn't need Batman, but Faith knew Bruce needed him more than Gotham did.

She also knew that whatever face he was wearing, Batman would sooner have a profile done on him on Dateline rather than reveal any of this to her. She could have told him that she knew far better than most that if you played this close to vest, you were likely to go dark, and that he had been on the borderline between dark and light so long he probably had to blink all the time to tell the difference. But again, this would be old news.

Her problem was that while she was comfortable enough with Batman, she had very little use for Bruce Wayne. Under any other circumstances (and not that long ago) after finishing her business, she would've left by the nearest exit, instead of hanging around in the drawing room (Or living room--- she wasn't an interior designer). Frankly, the only room in the manor she was comfortable in was in the Batcave, but she knew that he didn't like people wandering around in there even if they did know it existed.

"Is it really that unbearable to share your bed with someone?"

She known him a year and it still was kind of unsettling how quiet he could be.

"It's not you, it's me," Faith rolled her eyes. "I've always wanted to use that line."

"We've been doing this for awhile; I'd think I'd earned a little courtesy."

"It's the truth," Faith admitted. "I dress like a pro, I fuck like a pro, I get any more comfortable I might as well be Julia Roberts. We'll ignore that the couch I'm sleeping on cost more than my last apartment. Normal women would have problems like that."

When he was in public, Bruce Wayne tried to smile every few minutes, as it was part of the public persona. Faith knew both sides of him well enough to know that he never felt comfortable doing it. When he was in private, his smiles were even rarer. And even though she was pretty sure that this one generous, it still looked pasted on. Then again, what reasons had he ever had to smile?

"I'd think that by now that you'd be over the problems with your self-esteem," he started.

"B-Man you know my story well enough," she countered. "I've gotten to a point in my life that I can be comfortable with who I am. Can you say as much?"

"What are you talking about?"

"My point is simple," Faith looked at the clock on the fireplace. "I finally managed to get you to turn off the hunt for the Joker at four in the morning. We get back here, we take care of business, we head to dreamland. It's now 6:14. Based on the schedule that you put in the last few days," she gave a smile, "and the little workout I put you through, you should've been out for the count for at least another hour and a half.."

"I could say the same thing about you." Batman countered.

"Ah, but I have two things that you don't--- Slayer regenerative powers and nothing to do in the morning and afternoon. And considering the very active schedule Mr. Wayne has, he needs his rest more than I do."

Faith knew Batman didn't like speaking of Bruce in the third person (even though she knew he did it all the time) but this was one of several aspects of her personality that he had given up trying to change. That was the least of his problems tight now.

"I'm little stressed out by the fact that the Joker has been liberated," he began.

Faith was itching for an argument about how Batman had handled the Joker, but this would raise questions that she thought were probably close to his mind right now anyway "Joker's bad news, I grant you, " she acknowledged, "and I know that I practically had to hogtie you in order to get you into bed in the first place, but the last time you were chasing the Joker non-stop, it nearly got you killed. I'd like to think you learned from that."

"You know the regiment that I keep enables me to function on little rest---"

"Which would be fine if you were getting it," she countered. "Just because I don't spend all night in your bedroom, doesn't mean that I haven't picked up on your sleeping habits, and this isn't the first time you've rolled out of bed this early." Off his look, she went on. "Don't worry, Alfred didn't give you up. I'm just a little more observant than people give me credit for."

"I never underestimate you, Faith," Batman said.

"Then give me the real reason you're up."

"You're not telling me that the things you've done don't give you problems sleeping?"

"When you've seen as much blood spilled as we have, it's often hard to imagine ever being able to close your eyes," she said. "And even when you've got the added boosts of having Slayer powers, the nightmares aren't something your prepared for."

"Then I think you'd allow for the possibility that I have the same kind of problems," Batman said.

That's where you and I are different, B-Man," she had told him in that mocking veneer she used to mask her feelings. "I need the nightmares. I need to remember the people I've destroyed and ruined. I was bad to the bone once. The nightmares and guilt are the cost of keeping me sane. Where as you---- you've got a relatively clear conscience--- at least compared to most of the people I know. When you have a bad dream, it's always about somewhere you think that you failed. I have to accept the things that I've done wrong, and my excuse was that I misused my powers. You, despite all the power you've got, are not. You have to accept your failings or they'll end up gutting you."

Even as she spoke to him, Faith wondered if she was getting through. She respected Batman, she would even (privately) admit to being more concerned about him then almost everyone else she'd worked with, good or evil. But, in one vital way, Bruce was dangerously like Buffy in that she kept her own council, almost to the point of isolating herself from everyone who cared about her. She had gotten a lot closer to him than all but a handful of people had, but she had a feeling that, like them, she would always be on the outside looking in. And while that had been her samurai code a few years ago, she knew better than anyone how very dangerous that was

"All right, Faith."

She could see the barest of twitches of the muscles on Batman's face. For a moment, she thought that she might be about to get through to him. Then the mask--- even without the cowl, it was always there--- was back up again.

"I'll admit I've got demons--- figurative and literal, and they have given me problems, but considering the situation, I don't have the luxury of spending the next few days contemplating them. We have to find Drusilla and the Joker before she does whatever it is she was planning on doing to the city."

Faith considered another eye roll. "Either you're more exhausted than you've been letting on, or I haven't been that clear with my reminders. Drusilla is just a problem, like the Joker is _a _problem." She held up her hand. "A _big _oneI grant you, but still not the real one. Dru has the nasty habit of being manipulated by powers much greater than herself. Which I imagine is exactly what's happening here. Someone led her into St. Horace, someone told her not to make a mess while extracting the Mr. Smiley Face., and someone else has given her a place to hide. We need to figure out who. The rest will come from there."

"I've been working on that," Batman told her.

Faith now knew Batman well enough to know that as far as he was concerned, the sleep matter had been tabled. She decided to go along with this because there were other issues and they had to deal with them before whatever was going to happen moved into the next phase

. "What've you got?" she asked as he sat next to her and took out a laptop.

"Even if Drusilla did get her information about St. Horace from the stars, the stars wouldn't have given her the code to the Joker's room. As one of the priorities of securing that place , they used a ten-digit pass-code that was changed every twenty-four hours."

"Newsflash, there a hundred ways to get past those kind of codes without electronics, " Faith reminded him. "Right magic spell, and all doors are open to you."

"Except that we had the floor wired for sound, and she never uttered a single word of magic," Batman pointed out. "From what you told me, Dru doesn't have the kind of power to just wave her hand and unchain locks."

In fact, Faith wasn't entirely sure that the vampire couldn't do just that, but again she had no proof and she knew better than to interrupt the Bat when he was moving through a train of thought—she wasn't worried about derailing the train of thought as being run over by it. "Have you found something that would prove me wrong?" she asked instead.

"The fire at the chemical plant caused a lot of casualties to show up at the ER the hour before your girl walked in," he told her. "Almost the entire medical staff was called in while they were getting things under control. However, according to the medical logs, one doctor who worked that night didn't see a single patient. Not strange in of itself, but he was also the only man in the ER at the time who knew that the Joker was really the patient on the fifth floor."

"I'll admit that's a pretty big coincidence," Faith said, "and much like leprechauns I don't generally believe in them, but it's not enough to make him our guy.."

"What about that he has a criminal record?" Batman punched some keys and a man's face came up. "Dr. Peter White, formerly of Boston, charged with prescribing Vicodin without a prescription in 1995. Received probation. Also charged with sexual assaults of two female doctors on staff in 1996, found not guilty."

"How'd a sick fuck like him end up practicing medicine here?." Faith asked

"His license was suspended in Massachusetts, which no doubt inspired him to relocate. Once he moved here, he sued the AMA to get his license back and won."

"I guess the people you hired to watch that place didn't do as good a job as they could've in doing background checks on staff."

A line appeared on Batman's forehead for a moment, and quickly disappeared. "It does seem odd that a guy with that big a warning sign slipped under the radar," he admitted.

"In any case, the fact that he may have helped them get the codes doesn't mean he'll have any idea where to find Drusilla," she argued reasonably. "Even on her best day, I doubt that she could remain coherent long enough to keep him fooled."

"Maybe, but right now, its our best lead."

"You mean, it's _your _best lead." Off Batman's look, Faith replied.: "I know my place in Gotham, B-Man, and shaking down human beings, no matter how despicable they are, is not the kind of thing I do any more, especially when the police are against me. You're the one with the crack team in this town, have them do it."

One of his eyebrows went up. "And what are you going to be doing?"

""Follow the trail of blood," she told him bluntly. "Whether or not Dru's under anyone else's power, she's going to want to see Spike. The whole mother-child thing, which goes alongside the whole screwing matter." Faith grimaced as she finished getting dressed. "I gotta tell you, that whole relationship has me a little creeped out, and I've been dealing with this shit for seven years."

"What does that have to do with---"

"Dru's been out of touch with Spike so long , she probably doesn't know tbat he has a soul now. Even if she does, she knows the easiest way to get his attention is with a pile of corpses. Dick told me that there's been an increase in the amount of the dead homeless. That's where I'm going to start looking."

"Now?" Batman asked.

"No, now I'm going back to my apartment to get some much needed sleep because I've had such a long night," Faith told him, a smile flickering across her face. "I'd advise you to do the same, but since we both know what a waste of time that would be, I'll settle for reminding you--- the Joker's most likely still a cabbage, Dru can't do much in the daytime, and that you have other people to carry the load. So make sure that Bruce Wayne doesn't have that strenuous a day?"

She blew him a kiss, and passed by Alfred, who look immaculate as always even though he had gotten up just a few minutes earlier. "Keep an eye on him, will you?"

"As always, Faith," he said as she passed by.

Bruce waited until she was gone to look at his loyal manservant. "Do I sense a conspiracy here?" he asked with the barest trace of humor.

"I hate to think that care for your well being should be reduced to the level of a devious plot, Master Bruce," Alfred said with reproach. "Unless, of course, there is a special need for concern?"

Bruce had less trouble being open to the man who had essentially raised him. "At the moment, there isn't," he said honestly enough.

"And later?" Alfred was the master of tactful concern.

"Let us hope it doesn't come to that."


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Even considering how bad the homeless situation was in Gotham City, it still took a brave man to try and set up anything that wouldn't become a breeding ground for drug dealers and the more underhanded of the city's criminal elements, especially in one that was still recovering from the horrors of No Man's Land four years earlier. St. Lucy's House of Mercy was one of only five services for the downtrodden that had survived both of them, and the only one that had not taken, directly or indirectly, any contributions from WayneTech. in order to be founded.. It was true that Dick Grayson very actively participated in its services, but few knew how much trouble he (and his alter ego) had gone through to keep the thing running on its own.

If anything, Dick kept to a stricter schedule than Bruce (being younger meant he required less rest) and most of it centered around all of the shelters. However, because of his history with Father Henry, the man behind Saint Lucy's was, with the exception of Bruce Wayne, the most important person in the young man's life.

An Episcopalian minister, Henry's wife had been manager of concessions that the circus that Dick had been born into. Close to most of the people, Henry had presided over the funeral of Grayson's parents, and had taken interest in Dick even after he had ended up in Bruce's care. Though Dick had never told him about his alter ego, he was pretty sure that the man of faith knew what he did with his nights. And even though they had often disparate views upon the existence of God and the nature of man, they cared for each other a great deal. Whenever Henry wanted something, Dick didn't hesitate to help.

That was why today, the first time in a while he had nothing to do, he was working the soup kitchen line, hoping like hell none of the scared, bleary-eyed men and women he'd help protect in the nights before would recognize him in the relative light of day.

"You must relieve yourself, Richard."

Despite repeated requests, Father Henry was the only person allowed to call him by his full first name. "I've been in the bathroom in this place before, Father," Dick said. "Besides, I don't need to go."

"Very literal, as always." Henry walked up to him. "You've been ladling for nearly an hour. It's time to let Conrad take a turn."

"Father, you know that Conrad makes the people uncomfortable, staring at them," Dick argued.

"And you don't do that on occasion?" the minister said with a raised eyebrow

"I can't help it that I put people at ease," Dick said, half in jest.

"Now we know why that is, Richard."

Suddenly, Dick wondered if he was being serious. "Why?"

"Because you're the model of good Christian faith," Henry said in apparent innocence.

Not for the first time, Dick wondered if the father was trying to subtly get him to reveal one of the only things he had kept from him over the past few years.

"Are you trying to get me to come to Mass again?" he asked.

"I never interfere with someone who has temporarily misplaced his devotion," the father said. "I leave such things in the hands of God, and trust that he will know when to help guide a man back to where he's supposed to be."

Had Batman been doing this, he would have been more resentful. "And where should I be?"

"Near the entrance," the father said. "A young lady is asking for you up front. Says you know what this is about."

Dick didn't ask for more. Based on the language his one-time father-confessor had been (though witty at times, the good father abhorred puns), he knew who it was. Though he had to admit, he was curious as to why she was here.

There she was, standing just outside the doorway, wearing a slightly more restrained (but hyped up for almost any other woman) ensemble. And leather pants. _What is it with the women around Bruce and leather...?_

Grayson stepped to the doorway, leaning on the doorway. "Faith, I realize that you've had problems with morality, but you're not a vampire and this isn't a church," Dick gently pointed out. "Lightning will not strike you down if you cross the threshold."

Faith smiled slyly. She took a quick hop across the threshold into the building, and back out again immediately after. "You think I don't know that? When you're in my line of work, you have to know where your church is. I don't have a problem with them. Priests are a different story."

"Really?" Dick raised an eyebrow. "They harass you about your sinful ways?"

"Actually, the last one I had anything to do with beat the shit out of me, gouged out a good friend's eye, killed a bunch of innocent schoolgirls, and tried to bring about the end of the world."

Even though he had known her almost a year and a half, Faith still had the capacity to surprise him. "And I thought I grew up in interesting times," he said, only half in jest.

He meant to bring a smile. It didn't. "There's a reason the Chinese think that's a curse. My childhood was lousy. My teenage years blew rancid chunks. Only in the last few years has my life been _downgraded_ to interesting." She gave a small smile that was filled with pain. "Want to trade?"

Dick was curious, but... "As much as I'd love to start swapping stories and who has the background that sucks more, I'm guessing this isn't a social call—you're here in daylight. Given the hours you keep, and the job you hold—"

"You mean why here instead of the streets?" Faith looked at him. "To be honest, it's a multi-part activity. First, I didn't completely come just to talk. It's time for me to restock. Father Henry was more than willing to do the benedictions over my water supply."

This was, in fact, a matter of private conflict between Faith and Bruce. As part of the continuing war against vampires, Bruce had arranged for WayneTech to begin a series of business deals with the Vatican in order to receive access to all of the crosses, holy water, and other blessed objects to help. It had therefore come as a great shock to Bruce when Faith had told him that he could use whatever supplies he liked, but she was going to act locally. "I'm not having any of that _Da Vinci Code _shit anywhere near me while I'm doing my job," she'd told him. There had been an argument about it, but Faith had stood firm.

Up until now, Dick had assumed that she had gotten the majority of her supplies from Los Angeles; now it seemed that she had been even more local than that. "You are aware that Father Henry is—"

"I know what he does," Faith told him. "However, considering that you were willing to vouch for him means a lot more than whatever he has around his neck."

Not for the first time, he wondered about the abuse that so obviously was in Faith's past had come from, what traumas had made her the Slayer she was today? _Then again, considering all the oddballs we have as superheroes who do this for fun—paging Oliver Queen—she might not be that traumatized. If Ollie's to be believed, he and Black Canary have sex more after a night out on the town, breaking heads, than otherwise. I guess she's not that strange... sort of..._ Psychology of relatively normal people wasn't his forte, and now was not the time to ask. "What are the other reasons?"

"When I last talked to you a couple days back, you told me that there had been an increased amount of concern among" she made an encompassing gesture "your people. Now I'm pretty sure that's a sign that our girl Drusilla is making inroads into this particular group of citizens. Now while I am generally five-by-five in the wee hours of the morning, I know that most people aren't, and this is particularly true with the people you help, no offense—"

"None taken." Dick added, "Most of them are all right, but some of them do have problems with reality."

"That's why I'm here," Faith said. "You know these people. I don't. Even if I did, I've never been the kind of gal people confide in."

"Wait a minute. You think I am?" Now Dick was almost amused.

"You're here, aren't you?" Faith remarked. "And you may have a good relationship with the priest, but that can't be all that it is. Otherwise, you wouldn't be working so hard to protect them in the first place."

"You're a better observer than you give yourself credit for," Dick admitted.

"And now that the thunderous applause has ended, how about you guide me through this? If it's all right, I think we should start with the people who are a little out there."

"It'll take sometime to get the right information," he told her.

"Maybe, but from what I know of Drusilla, they're the kind of people she'd start with."

Faith had left out one little bit of information from her stories on Drusilla: even though it _appeared _that she was permanently detached from what was going on around her, she had an eerie hyperawareness of not only what was going on in the immediate vicinity, but in a lot of other places as well. The same could not be said of many of the people she and Dick talked with. They had decided to eliminate many of the more elderly people, because Dru, like a lot of other vamps, liked it best "when her food was fresh," as Spike had once said. However, that did eliminate a lot of people in the shelter. They talked with the elders anyway, but quickly found that they had almost nothing consequential.

They finally hit paydirt when they found a brother and sister in their late teens who, in comparison to a lot of the people in the shelter, were pretty healthy. They both had a full set of teeth, neither their faces or clothes were that filthy, and they seemed to be eating the soup with relative vigor. It wasn't until a little later that Faith realized that the problem was not collective, but limited to the brother, who seemed all right, but, every so often one side of his face would twitch, and his eyes would flicker over to one side.

"Try and be tactful," Dick said under his breath

"Hey, I've learned how to be diplomatic," she point out.

Dick said nothing to this, just very briefly raised one of his eyebrows.

"Haven't seen you here before," he started casually.

"That's because we usually have money," the woman said harshly. "We only eat here if things on the street are slim."

"Forgive me for saying this, but neither of you looks like the kind of person we usually see around here," Dick said slowly.

"What, now only the old and minorities can be on the street? Our parents all said we'd break new ground; I guess they never thought we'd have to sleep on it too." The woman's voice got even harsher.

"Nice tact," Faith muttered, as she gently pushed Dick to the one side. "What's wrong with your brother?"

"What makes you think there's anything wrong with him?" the woman said angrily.

"It's all right, Beth." The boy spoke for the first time. "There are a lot more people who have things a lot worse than I do."

"We don't have to talk to strangers," Beth told him.

"We're not children anymore, and we're the ones acting odd, not them." The young man swallowed the last of his soup. "My name is James Stephens, and is my sister Elizabeth. The reason you haven't seen us before is because this is our first time here. This is all pretty new to us."

"Where do you normally live?" Faith asked.

"The Crawford Motor Inn." This was one of the cheapest motels in the low traffic section of Gotham. "But we don't get the next benefit check until Friday, so we're trying to economize till then."

Faith nodded a couple of times. "Your parents know about this?"

"Father divorced when we were still in junior high," the sister spoke up. "We couldn't find him even if we wanted too, not that he'd help us. Mom—" Beth swallowed. "Mom died in a freak accident with a barbecue fork a year ago."

"This was before Gotham admitted that it was powerless over," now Faith lowered her voice, "vampires."

"The cops wouldn't investigate, so there was no report filed, so the insurance company only gave us half benefits after Mom died," James said slowly. "Unfortunately, a few months, there was a complication."

"Sounds your life was complicated enough," Dick said gently.

"That's just my brother being the master of the understatement," Beth countered, though she now seemed a little less angry. "See, even though our Dad disappeared, he left a gift behind. Both our grandfather and our uncle suffered from schizophrenia, and about two years ago, James had an episode."

"_Now_ you're being modest?" James sounded almost amused at this turn of events. "I put my hand through the window of a crosstown bus. They would've have thrown me in jail, and the police weren't exactly friendly to us before. The legal fees ate up half our money, the anti-psychotics took a lot more, and before we know it, we can't make the rent."

"That sucks," Faith said. "That's just really shitty of the world to lay all this crap on you."

Though Dick was inclined to agree with her, he still didn't know why Faith had honed in on these two, or what their link was to Dru.

"The streets aren't really that safe, you know," Dick said.

"It's Gotham. They've never been safe," Beth said bluntly. "It's bad enough we have murders, lunatics, and the police on our ass if things get a little disorderly. Now every time we're out on the street, I'm running interference for the weirdest pros I've ever seen."

"What kind of pros?" Faith asked

Beth narrowed her eyes. "_Are_ you with the cops or something? What does this have to do with anything?"

Faith wasn't sure where to go with this. Though her profile had been a lot more open since she had come to Gotham, she still wasn't comfortable with letting strangers in, and it was clear that even though they knew about the vampires, they might not have heard about the Slayer, and an ex-con at that.

Fortunately, Dick who had been doing this longer than she had, smoothed things over. "There've been a lot of people who've gone missing over the past few weeks," he told them. "She's trying to help stop the one behind this latest problem."

"Those people are dead or worse by now," James told her. "How can you possibly help them?"

"Because right now, I'm the only one who can make sure that they find any kind of peace," she told them.

It was the right thing to say. "This woman, maybe she wasn't a pro, but if she wasn't, she was the strangest one I've ever met—granted, that's a small number." Faith just nodded.

"Now, I'd never seen her before in my life," James told them, "but this woman, she kept talking like she knew me. Kept saying I was her little lost lamb, and that the stars told her I would supposed to be with her. Really weirded me out."

While Faith managed to keep a straight face, internally, she cringed at the details. And a great big _Aw, crap _came to mind.

"Doesn't sound that strange to me," Dick gently suggested. "Not for Gotham."

"Except that when I first started having my episodes, I thought—" James paused "I thought that the stars were talking to me."

Dick was starting to get a sense of the picture. "How long has it been since you had an episode?"

"About a month," James responded. "Last check we got came in two weeks ago. I've been running low on meds since then."

"When did you first see this chick?" Faith asked.

"A few days after he ran out," Beth told them. "Since then we've seen her a couple of other times."

"Did you ever see her when you weren't living on the street?" Dick asked.

"We didn't tell her where we live," Beth countered, "we're not idiots. But this Goth chick, she somehow keeps finding us."

"You ever see her talking to other people?"

The siblings nodded. "Several. Mostly older folks," Beth told her. "But we can't raise it with any of them because we aren't around often enough."

"Where and when did you see her last?"

James thought for a moment. "Two days ago, the eastern end of Walton Street."

Faith nodded again. "I gotta say, I've seen a lot of people with a lot of bad problems, and I don't think I've ever met someone who's dealing this well with them."

"I'm glad that this is your Barney moment here."

"Beth." James put his hand on the shoulder. "The insurance for my prescription only gave me a week's worth at a time, and we have to basically from now until Friday with about fifteen dollars."

"So you've been on your meds—"

"—the last three days."

Faith considered this. "You're probably too proud to take charity, and I'm not the kind of person who would give it," she told them. "However, I hope that you'll take some advice." Both of them nodded. "Stay away from those areas you hung out in. Stay indoors as much as possible. And if by some chance you see that woman again, run as fast as you can, and get as far away from her as possible."

"She's really worse than the other stuff on the street?" Beth asked.

"Don't try and find out," Dick said.

Beth and James both nodded. Then, almost reluctantly, Beth spoke up. "We're not that proud."

Dick was about to reach into his pocket when Faith put her hand on his shoulder. With her other, she reached into hers, took out a bill and handed it to her. "Watch your back," she said. "And your front."

"I thought that you weren't the type of person who—" Beth started.

"I guess I'm evolving," Faith responded.

"All right, I'll admit that was a little enlightening," Dick said as they had left the safety of the shelter. "But all that tells us is that Dru was here, and we knew that before we came."

"We also know where she'll be the next time she makes an appearance," Faith told him.

"She's going after people who are mentally unstable?" Dick said.

"Did you know that at one point schizophrenia was commonly misdiagnosed as demon possession?" Faith asked. "Or that people _with _the sight were often considered insane?"

Dick considered this. "You're telling me that Drusilla thinks—" Faith nodded. "But that kind of thinking went out with the nineteenth century."

"Where do you think Dru's been living on the rare occasions that she visits Planet Earth?" Faith told him. "I've had a couple of conversations with Spike. He told me that when she got lonely for other companions, she wanted to find people who weren't all there, who might have her gift. Unfortunately, the only places that she knew where to look for them were local institutions."

Suddenly Dick's blood ran cold. "Have we double checked the security at Arkham?"

"The Bat's been running double shifts the last few days. But you know as well as I do that it's probably still going to be just as easy to break in as it to break out. From what I've seen, that place should just install a revolving door."

"But if she broke the Joker out—"

"What she did to get in to the Chamber of Horrors is light years from what she normally does. Drusilla has been many things, subtle was not one of them." Faith paused. "Until now."

"So that's what she's doing now, trawling the street for fellow lunatics?" Dick asked.

"_Young_ lunatics," Faith modified, "and judging by the way she's been circling around that kid, she's found something that she likes."

Dick looked back. "You sure? James seemed a lot more stable than most of the people on the street. Hell, more than most people in coffeehouses these days."

"There are only two things keeping that kid together: his pills and his sister. Remove them both..." Faith didn't need to finish the sentence..

"So how do you intend to protect them?"

"How? Give them round the clock protection? Put them up in a nice hotel? Our plates—and the plates of everyone in our circle—are full."

Dick considered this. "Then why spend so much time with them?"

"Because Drusilla has James Stephens in her sights. I don't know what her endgame is—fuck, I don't know what _any_ part of her game is—but this boy means something to her." Faith paused. "Which means that she's going to come after him. When she does, we're going to use James to try and find out where she's hiding."

Even though he could see where Faith had been going with this, it still stuck in his craw. "You mean use him as bait?"

"I touched James on the shoulder, and gave them the money, so I could place microscopic trackers on them. Andrew and Barbara will be watching for their signals at the Clock Tower. We'll be able to track them, and hopefully will be able to locate them when Drusilla comes back for them."

Dick was starting to get a little angry. "You know, I would've been more than willing to keep an eye on them myself."

"Your self-proclaimed charge is to take care of all the downtrodden, not just ones you've met and empathize with," Faith reminded him. "Besides, Dru could do a lot more damage among your people before she gets back to those two, and we both know it."

"They're your people, too," Dick argued, a little less heatedly.

"My people? No. I'm from outta town. Not to mention I've also got the normal vampire traffic, and I have to figure out what the hell Dru is going to do with the Joker before she actually does it." Now Faith hesitated. "Which brings us to one more issue, and I wish I had a more subtle segue into it. But we are dealing with monsters here, so—"

"How do we handle the Joker?" Dick asked.

"I haven't gone to Batman with this, and if you repeat it, I will deny ever raising the issue." Faith hesitated again. Dick was now a little concerned; Faith never thought this hard about revealing anything.

"Bullock said that if, while we were hunting him, the Joker were to go the way of all flesh," she took a deep breath, "he would make sure that there were no repercussions."

Dick wasn't sure he'd heard right, and when he saw that Faith wasn't trying to bullshit him, he was surprised how upset this didn't make him. "Bullock is giving you a license to kill?"

"I think if I were to go off the deep end with another villain, he'd be less understanding," Faith admitted. "But I think that he's reached the same stress point that the rest of us have with this bastard. And I know that you were never thrilled with the idea of putting him up in St. Horace's to begin with."

Dick had never liked Bruce's black-and-white view of crime-fighting (it was one of the reasons he had given up being Robin), but now hearing in the space of ten minutes two very real discussions about the possibility of murder didn't make him feel much more comfortable. And considering the horrible death that the Joker had done to his immediate successor, this was an issue he had strong feelings over. Not to mention what Joker had done to Barbara Gordon...that had induced more than a few fantasies involving the Joker as a pinata hanging in the Batcave. Nevertheless, he was surprised he didn't automatically say: "Kill the bastard."

"Would you be able to?" he asked instead.

"Few years back, I wouldn't have had a problem with it," Faith admitted. "Given the mess he's made in this city, no one would blame me for doing it."

"But?"

"But, one of the reasons I got out of prison, that I surrendered in the first place, was because I understood the consequences of taking a life. I had to understand the cost of my actions."

Dick shrugged. "Bullock seems to be to saying there won't be any."

"There always are; you know that as well as I do," Faith pointed out. "Don't get me wrong, Joker's long since forfeited his right to breathe fresh oxygen, but..."

Again she trailed off. "Maybe that's part of the reason I'm giving Drusilla more time than she's entitled to. Take enough, maybe she'll take the decision out of our hands."

This particular nightmare had been running through Dick's head ever since the Joker had been liberated. "Do you really want to see the Joker become an even greater monster than he already is?" he asked.

"No," Faith admitted. "But I didn't come to this city to become an assassin either, even if it is for everybody's peace of mind."

Dick could appreciate this, too, even if he didn't agree..

"Well, I better check in with Andrew. Tell him we're ready to go."

Dick nodded and began to head towards the streets.

"Don't you still have work at the kitchen?"

Dick shook his head. "Somehow, I'm not in the giving spirit anymore."


End file.
